


Five Ways Susan Brought Marcus Back To Life

by Leyenn



Category: Babylon 5, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyenn/pseuds/Leyenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Credit for the crossover in #3 is goes to medie, as it's an AU of her AU <a href="http://medie.livejournal.com/1273108.html#cutid1">nothing important happened today (or, today we saw rocks</a>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Five Ways Susan Brought Marcus Back To Life

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the crossover in #3 is goes to medie, as it's an AU of her AU [nothing important happened today (or, today we saw rocks](http://medie.livejournal.com/1273108.html#cutid1).

**   
_holding on_   
**

Stephen thinks this is the worst idea she's ever had, and he's not the only one. She knows it's the worst. Hell, it's probably the worst anyone's ever had.

He didn't want to be the one to operate the machine, but he wouldn't let anyone else touch it, so when she said she'd do it herself it didn't leave him much choice. She can tell by his expression through the isolab glass that he's still not happy, but she can live with that.

Delenn puts a hand on her arm, squeezing gently. "Are you certain you wish to go first, Susan?"

She nods. She's thought about this - hell, she hasn't stopped thinking about this. "I should. It's my idea." She doesn't say _my fault_, but she knows from the look in Delenn's eyes that she hears it all the same.

"We will all offer the same sacrifice, Susan," she says gently. "The order doesn't matter."

"Then it doesn't matter if I go first, does it?" She squeezes Delenn's hand and then moves her arm away. "I want to do this. I need to do this."

Delenn nods. "All right."

She smiles at Delenn's tone. "And you'll be after me, right?"

"I will see you in an hour," Delenn says firmly. No arguments.

She nods this time. "See you in an hour."

Delenn hugs her then - unexpectedly, but she finds herself clinging to the embrace all the same. When she pulls away she pretends not looking into Delenn's eyes will mean she's not fighting back tears.

No one else should have to do this, no one else should need to sacrifice for her to make things right. If she could simply give back what she took, she would, and only the thought of what John and Delenn would do is enough to keep her from trying now.

Stephen holds out the chair for her when the airlock cycles open. The machine is already set, lights blinking mysteriously in ways that she doesn't understand.

"I'm glad you're here to do this," she says, as she rolls up her uniform sleeve. She tries to smile at him and mean it. "I'd hate to have to figure this thing out by myself."

"You're stubborn enough to try," he says roughly. "All right. We're all set. One hour is the lowest safe limit that will have any effect. We've estimated that sixteen hours should be enough, so that means-"

"-I only have to do this once. I know, Stephen." Sixteen people. She doesn't know how much life that is she's stealing, how much she should never have taken.

If he weren't as close to dead as he can be, she'd kill him for what he's done to her.

The cuff fits neatly around her wrist, and she feels the fast prick of needles gripping her skin that means she'll soon have a second tiny set of scars to match the faded marks already there.

She expected to feel... something. Instead she spends the next hour avoiding Stephen's eyes and worrying that it's not going to work.

When it's over, he disconnects her without a word and doesn't say anything about the tears on her face as she walks out.

  


*

  


There is a list of names on her coffee table, and she hates the sight of it.

_Susan Ivanova-Sheridan_ is the first name. The only one there should be.

_Delenn Sheridan sa'Mir_ is written in fine Adronato script, with a flowing ink pen, like signing a decree. _John Sheridan_, in the same pen, is precisely beneath it.

_Michael A. Garibaldi_, scrawled and with a pause where Lise tried to cross it out, and a slight smudge of tears on the last letter.

_Timenn so'n'Charo_ \- she didn't want him to get involved. He insisted, as her physician. She's barely spoken to him since because she doesn't know what to say.

_Yossel Koslov_, written in her native Cyrillic, in a firm precise hand so much like her father's that she still bites her lip when she sees it.

_Stephen Franklin_ comes only so far down the list, when he realised she couldn't be persuaded out of this. _Lilian Hobbs_ is the first of the three names of current MedLab staff; the other two she doesn't know.

_Ta'Lon_ is there in G'Kar's stead. Whether he asked or Ta'Lon took it upon himself, she isn't sure and doesn't want to ask.

The rest are Anla'shok: two who walked into MedLab and signed while she stood there feeling ashamed not to know their names, and three who've come directly from Minbar. She knows Deska served with him on Zagros Seven, and Jason Harper is the one who drank with her at the bar two nights ago and told her stories of learning Minbari that almost managed to made her laugh.

Fourteen are crossed through now. She ran out of vodka on number twelve.

The door opens on a dark corridor: John sits down in silence, puts his arm around her and holds her close.

"It's gonna work," he says firmly. She closes her eyes, not sure if she wants him to be right or wishes to God he'll be wrong.

  


*

  


**   
_remembering_   
**

John strokes her hair back. She's too tired to shake his touch away, even though she's sweating and it can't be the most attractive time he's ever touched her.

"How're you feeling?" he asks tenderly. She closes her eyes.

"I'd kill you if I had the energy," she says, a sentiment that's become familiar enough to lose its edge over the last few hours. He smiles.

"Timenn says you're both going to be fine. He's as healthy as they come, apparently, not that I expected you to do anything less."

She laughs tiredly. "Is this bed big enough for two, you think?"

He leans down and kisses her on the lips. "Not quite. Sorry."

"When do we get to see him?"

"As soon as they're done checking him over," he promises. "Get some rest. I'm not going anywhere."

"Mmm." The sweat is starting to cling to her skin in a dry film, and she feels bruised in places even John hasn't ever discovered inside her. Her muscles ache all over; she feels a little dizzy with the blood loss, even though they stopped it so quickly, and with the relief that it's all over.

"Sofia," she murmurs, rolling her head to the side to look at him. "Sofia... where is she?"

John shakes his head. "Michael's got her for tonight. Don't worry."

She relaxes, nods. "Okay." Mary will probably be enjoying the company, even if neither of them have any inkling of the hell she's gone through just to get them a late night of playing together.

Three years ago she was insistent she'd never do this again. She laughs to herself at the thought; John squeezes her hand in question.

"What?"

She opens her eyes and looks at him, although the exhaustion makes it slightly hard to focus even on his face. "I think... I seem to remember I said one would be enough."

He chuckles. "Maybe two is, though, huh?"

She thinks about what she's just struggled through and smiles fuzzily. "Mm. Maybe."

John's laughter and caresses send her into sleep with a tender understanding. "Yeah. Maybe."

  


*

  


He has a soft mess of dark hair from her and sparkling blue eyes from his father, and a giggle that reminds her of his sister from the very first time she hears it. It's tradition on Minbar that the naming takes place on the fifth night after birth, so when John takes her home and to bed, they discuss it in soft whispers but deliberately never come to a decision.

For five days she has to stop herself calling him by the name she's already chosen: she manages it aloud, but just makes sure her shields are tight when she lets herself think it. Once or twice, Sofia's giggle makes her unsure, but a little chocolate can still go a long way with the three-year-old girl growing up among Minbari.

John says nothing about it, even though he knows she's made the choice, and she knows that he knows. He says nothing, but his kisses are tender when she comes to bed the night before.

The ceremony takes place in the Anla'shok Temple at sunset. She wears a flowing white robe of expensive silken fabric, a gift from Mayan: John is dressed in uniform, Valen's ancient cloak around his shoulders. The altar holds three candles already lit.

Michael smiles at her from the first tier of the temple. Sofia grins from his lap, well-behaved and silent, and she lets herself smile for a moment.

_You're a good girl,_ she says proudly. Sofia puts a tiny hand over her mouth and giggles happily.

_Will baby brother be here soon?_

She smiles, glances at John. He grins down at her like he knows - he always seems to.

_Yes, baby, you can see your brother soon._ She hasn't yet, according to Minbari custom. No one except John, herself, and the physicians - and them only because John insisted. Sometimes it's hard to understand living with the Minbari, but it's worth it. It's worth it to be free, and to see her little girl smile at her like that without fear.

The temple doors open behind her. John squeezes her hand.

_It's time._

She names him Marcus Lenn Sheridan, after the uncle who places him in their arms and the one he'll never know.

  


*

  


**   
_living_   
**

_You can wake up, now, Marcus._

The voice is soft; beaten silver, liquid and warm inside his skull, like a gentle rainfall. He opens his eyes.

She has long, bright blonde hair, green-grey eyes that seem oddly familiar although he's never seen her before, and she's a Ranger. And she's holding his hand.

_I don't know you,_ he tries to say, but his throat is dry and swollen around a breathing tube, and his jaw feels too stiff to move.

_It's all right,_ he hears in his mind then. She smiles at him, and then looks over him. "Doctor?"

Hands move around him, on his throat, and breath suddenly comes in a sharp rush as the tube slips out, scratchy and hot between his lips.

"I..." he starts saying. She lifts his hand between both of her own. Her skin is very soft, and her voice reaching his ears is smoky and warm.

"It's all right, Marcus. You don't know me, but you do."

He remembers...

...a touch in his mind, a warm voice...

...tingling sensations, sharp aches, quick flashes of pain...

...tenderness, caring, determination...

He knows her. And he knows why she's here.

"Susan," he whispers. "Susan. Susan...?"

"She's here," she says, in that gentle voice. "She's just outside."

He closes his eyes for just a moment. He's alive, awake, and Susan's all right. Everything else, he doesn't care. As long as Susan's alive.

_I want to see her,_ he wants to say, and she smiles like she understands. She doesn't speak, but the door slips open, and it hurts to move his head but his heart leaps all the same.

"Susan...?"

She smiles at him. Alive, and whole, and here, and he wants to cry with joy at the sight but he can't, his eyes are just dry.

"You realise I'm never going to forgive you," is the first thing she says to him, sounding amused, and he feels a smile of his own try to work its way onto his lips.

"Oh, that's foremost on his mind," the bright woman says, and Susan's smile widens.

"Thank you," she says, very softly, and he's not sure what that tone is in her voice. The woman holding his hand smiles, too, and moves one hand from his into Susan's. They don't speak: strangely, he thinks, still feeling vague in the mental department, perhaps they don't need to.

The woman looks back down at him. Susan doesn't move, but she, brightness and quiet, sits carefully beside him and lays his hand under her own on his thigh.

"My name is Talia," she says gently. "You remember me, now, don't you, Marcus?"

He nods. _Talia._ The name seems to fit her, goes well with the smile and the feeling of her inside his head. Goes well with Susan's name, part of him thinks, while the other parts of him wonder why that should be so important or come to him so quickly.

"I've been helping you heal," Talia says. "You remember that?" He nods again. She smiles. "Good. That's good." She pats his hand and reaches up to touch his forehead, brushes his hair back with her fingers. "You'll be very tired for a while," she tells him, calmly, almost like a doctor. He wonders how the real doctor feels about that, but he can't turn his head to look.

He licks his lips. His tongue is dry. Susan holds out a cup for him, lets Talia's hand go free to press ice chips to his lips until he thinks he can say something other than the reflex of her name. "How... long..."

He thinks Talia might answer him, until Susan looks at her. Something happens, and she stays quiet.

"It's twenty-two-sixty-five," Susan says. "December. Christmas in three weeks."

_Four years,_ he thinks. _Four years._ It seems like nothing and forever. But not a bad price to pay for her life.

"You can sleep for a while now, Marcus," Talia says warmly, and he does.

  


*

  


Doctor Hobbs allows him out of MedLab on December 23rd, at six hundred hours and four minutes, when she throws up her hands and declares that she's had enough of him at last. Stephen is there by then, to help him into the wheelchair and guide him down the corridors to quarters that are far too big to be his. Nothing seems to have changed, but everything has.

Seeing Garibaldi shocks him for a moment, even though he's started to catch up on events: seeing the heavily pregnant woman holding Michael's hand is an exercise in crazy, but he smiles all the same and discovers he quite likes her, when they get talking. Susan gifts him with a vid from G'Kar and Lyta, and a screaming two-year-old pouchling scrambling over their knees. He's introduced to David Sheridan and becomes convinced that the whole galaxy has been quietly domesticated while he wasn't around.

It comes as a slight comfort that Stephen hasn't married, but is spending his influence admirably by sponsoring any and all nephews and nieces he can. Vir has married, only once so far, a young dancer who giggles a lot and is quickly whisked away when he tries to ask how they first met.

They don't speak of Londo, and he makes sure not to ask.

And so it's Christmas, and there are perhaps five people in the new Earhart's Bar who celebrate, but that doesn't seem to have stopped anyone from visiting. He's had sketched in the details of the Telepath War and the loss of Psi Corps; the Drakh problem; the current Centauri conflict; the progress of the Alliance and the growth of the Rangers; the founding of the Epsilon Colony and the impending purchase of Babylon 5 that Sheridan talks about with his trademark grin - some things really haven't changed - and Susan anticipates with a practicality that makes him want to laugh, it's so _her_.

Delenn is sitting beside him, watching the mayhem unfold. They all seem to be taking turns, except for Susan.

"I'm glad you're recovering so quickly," Delenn says gently. "Is this tiring you?"

He shakes his head, offers her a grin. "Nope. Loving every minute." He looks at her. "You?"

She smiles. "A little. Don't tell John, but parties are still not my favorite place to be."

"Especially in your condition," he says, almost-but-not-quite asking. She blushes, looks surprised.

"I didn't know anyone had told you yet."

"Stephen," he says. "Can't keep a secret to save his life."

"Well, we had no intention of keeping it a secret. Especially not from our friends," and she lays her hand on his. "Now that Stephen has confirmed it, we're celebrating."

"Girl or boy?" he asks then. This obsession with new life is just what he needs right now.

"Oh, definitely another boy," Sheridan says before she can answer. Marcus looks up into a proud Presidential grin: Sheridan nods his way and offers him another drink. "Mind if I steal your visitor away?"

He smiles. They fit the role of proud parents to a tee, and he wouldn't begrudge it for a minute. "Not at all," he says, and watches Sheridan's arm slip around her as they go.

It's almost midnight when Susan sits down beside him. He only lets himself realise she's there when she speaks, and that this is the first time she's talked to him alone when she says it first.

"Is this what you expected after four years?" she asks, sounding uncertain that it is. He shrugs.

"I expected to die," he says honestly. She looks away.

"So did I."

He doesn't know what to say to that. She doesn't sound upset, and yet, something in her voice means he wants to apologise.

She turns to him before he can speak, in the end, although his lips are parted and the sound is almost out - but then she takes his hand, and he can't speak even if he wanted to.

"_Thank you,_" she says fiercely.

It's in her eyes. "You know," he says.

"I heard you," she admits. "I'm sorry. I can't."

"Talia," he says, understanding. Amazed that it's taken him this long to put it together, and realising suddenly why she's taken so long to get him alone.

She smiles, and the light in her eyes is beauty itself. "Yes."

"You look happy," he says. Because she does, and under the pain that's all he wants.

"I am," she says, like she doesn't quite believe it herself. "It was her idea, when she found out. She wanted to help you. I was afraid of what it might do to her, but she wanted to try. I couldn't say no."

"Thank _you_, in that case," he says, and she smiles.

"You want another drink? It's on the Presidential tab tonight. Make the most of it."

He grins. "Why not?"

  


*

  


**   
_leaving_   
**

He can't believe it. The only reason he knows it's true is that Delenn doesn't lie.

"_How?_"

"In childbirth. Six weeks ago."

Six weeks. He can't believe... he's finally awake, and he's missed her forever by _six weeks_.

"How," he whispers again. "Why-"

Delenn lays her hand on his arm. "Her ship was out on the Rim, the labor came far too early... there were complications. There was nothing anyone could do."

It's so mundane. He can't imagine it, not for Susan. "The baby...?" He's got no right, but he's afraid not to ask, afraid not to know.

Delenn smiles, although it doesn't touch the sadness in her eyes. "She survives."

"A little girl?" The image is striking. She'll probably have Susan's eyes, her smile...

"They are still here on the station, if you would like to see them," Delenn says gently, as if she knows what's going through his mind. "I'm sure Sam would be happy to have a visitor."

"Sam?" Oh. Of course. He shakes his head. "No, never mind."

"I think they would like to see you," Delenn says, gently insistent. "It would be good for you. For the two of them, too."

But he has no right. Not to that.

  


*

  


He knows he has no right, but that hasn't stopped his feet from carrying him here, from standing in this room. They leave tomorrow, and much as he can't forgive himself this indiscretion, it would haunt him not to see her at least once.

He's not sure what he expected, but a tall, slender blonde woman with a bundle of dark-haired baby in her arms isn't quite it.

"You're Sam," he says, feeling dazed for a moment. "Samantha?"

"Yes." She nods, without breaking her gentle rhythm. "You must be Marcus. Delenn mentioned you might be stopping by, I..." The pause is only a second long, but it's enough to notice. "I wanted to thank you for her life," she says then, and he feels his tears break where even she is strong enough not to let them fall.

Sam sits beside him on the couch as he tries to get himself together, cradles the baby in her arms like she's the most natural mother in the world. He was right: she has Susan's eyes, mischievous and worldly-wise gazing up at him from a far too innocent face.

"Does she have a name?" he asks gently. It's the thing to say, and he can't stand the silence, but he still hates himself when he hears her voice catch.

"We... we decided on Daniella. For a friend of mine who..." She stops herself for a moment. "Who died."

"She's beautiful," he tells her, and hopes somewhere she's not the only one who can hear him.

"Daniella Susana," she says, as if she hasn't even heard him, and then the tears do come and he finds himself holding her as she cries.

  


*

  


**   
_letting go_   
**

When he opens his eyes he's floating in some sort of sickly greenish fluid with a tube in either arm, and a strange rig of something pliable and sticky and organic over his face. He seems to be breathing, but he's not sure how. Instinct tries to make him splutter and claw for air, but his body refuses to cooperate.

Movement beyond the green haze distracts him from his panic: the distorted shapes of people, the blur of lights, and then he starts to realise the buzz of sound in his ears is a tangle of voices heard through not-quite-water.

_"Doctor Sheridan,"_ someone says, one of the only clear sounds he hears. _"I think he's awake. Should we..."_

The voice fades out of his hearing for a moment, replaced by another he thinks he knows but isn't sure. _"He is awake. Get him out of the tank."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"You think I'm wrong, Sacha?"_

_"Get him out of the tank,"_ the third voice says, familiar in a way he can't quite understand, and then he loses track of time and awareness as the green haze starts to drain away.

  


*

  


Someone is in the room with him. He opens his eyes. He seems to remember doing that before, not long ago, but the memory is hazy and he wouldn't be surprised if it was a dream. A dream tinted green.

"Well, you are awake," the someone says. He blinks, with some difficulty. Clearing his throat is hard, too. A glass appears in front of him, chilled and filled with ice, held by...

Nothing.

He reaches up to take it. "Nice trick," he says, after a long sip of icy water. The someone laughs, and he hears footsteps, and then he's face to face with a young man in his mid-twenties, with light blond hair down to the nape of his neck and bizarrely familiar eyes.

"You..." he says. He knows this man. He was dreaming about this man, and others...

_Yes._ The word seems to fill his head for a moment, and then it's gone. The man smiles. "I'm Michael. I've been overseeing your treatment for the last few months."

"Michael?" He tries to grin and is pleased to manage a weak smile. "Knew someone by that name once. Friend of mine." He frowns. "Maybe."

"Yes," Michael says, out loud this time. "Yes, he was. A good friend, in fact."

"Didn't know they put that sort of thing in medical records," he says, feeling woozy. Michael smiles and lays a hand on his wrist.

"They don't. Get some rest, I'll explain everything when you're stronger."

He closes his eyes again and sleeps.

  


*

  


_"We never thought he would actually wake up,"_ someone says. He knows the voice. He's heard it before, in a dream not long ago.

_"But he has."_ Another voice, one he doesn't remember this time. _"Sure he's completely under, Sacha? I can feel..."_

_"If he's fighting it, let him."_ He knows this voice, too. It reminds him of someone else, he's sure of it, but who that might be escapes him like a wisp of greenish cloud. It's a comforting voice, strong and calm with a hint of threat, like a mother's voice. _"Let me talk to him when he wakes up. I remind him of her, I can feel it."_

_"He hasn't even met you yet,"_ the unknown voice protests, and it is a protest. Her voice gets sharper.

_"I don't think that makes much difference in this case, do you?"_

_"I just don't want to see you get hurt."_

_"I won't. He has to know, that's all."_

_"Sacha could talk to him. The way he said he would."_

_"Sacha's still here, you know."_ He knows this voice, not from a dream, but remembers it with another name. _"Sofie has a point."_

He wonders where he should know that voice, but a phantom hand touches his forehead and he slips into a quiet darkness before it comes to him.

  


*

  


His head is spinning. "I don't quite... explain this all to me again?"

The woman sitting on the end of his bed smiles, and lays her hand on his knee through the blanket. "I know, it's a lot to take in. Try telling me what you think is happening, I'll bet you've got a better grasp of things than you think."

He's certain she's wrong about that. But he can't deny _her_, not with those eyes. That smile. He could never deny that smile anything.

"Sofia Sheridan," he says carefully. "That's your name."

"Yes."

"The man who was here before... is your half brother."

"Sacha. Michael," she corrects herself, then, "yes. My _sechli'mal'ier_."

_Soul-brother_. He knows the kind of relationship that would bring about that term. But he can't quite believe it. "And your parents..."

"The woman you knew as Susan Ivanova is my mother." She smiles. "I remind you of her, I know. And the first time you saw Sacha, you saw father in him."

"Sheridan," he says. It feels like the world is spinning in a way that has nothing to do with dizziness.

"John Sheridan, at your service."

Sofia turns her head to the door at the sound of that voice, and even looks surprised. It's the first time he's seen that on her face. Somehow it's comforting.

"_Va'mala_," she says reverently, rising from the bed, and bows in gracious Minbari style to the elegantly dressed Human standing in the doorway. "Is mother here yet? Or Talia?"

Sheridan looks older, clean-shaven, with streaks of silver in his loose-cropped hair as he shakes his head. "Tomorrow," he says when he embraces Sofia, and then approaches the bed. He's dressed in a Ranger cloak that he draws around himself naturally, like he's worn it for a lifetime.

"Long time no see," he says, with a smile. "How are you feeling, Marcus?"

He honestly has no idea. There doesn't seem to be anything to say except: "Alive?"

Sheridan grins. "Someone once told me, as long as you have that, the rest is negotiable."

"Once I work out who I'm negotiating with," he says. But Sofia smiles at him - Susan's smile, alive in front of his eyes, and Marcus thinks they might be right, after all.

  


*

  



End file.
